


Marsyas

by Neth_Smiley



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2019-03-14 20:02:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13597323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neth_Smiley/pseuds/Neth_Smiley
Summary: Inspired by Elihu Vedder's painting "Young Marsyas", and page 170 ofThe Silence of the Lambs(25th Anniversary Edition)





	Marsyas

Marsyas is such a pretty child. Thirteen months ago, when Crawford shipped you here on a whim, you hardly would have thought he would live to see the leaves turn red. Look at him now, the way he gambols in the silent trees, quick little goat-feet quivering in delight. The way he looks at everything, it is though the world is new and he loves each part of it. 

Under the warm coat of our little faun, Marsyas is soft and gentle. Look at him walk or run as it suits his capricious nature, how his expressive little face reacts when your beloved Bacchae try for a squirrel, a submerged turtle or a subterranean frog. He pushes at the baying ones, trying to order them with his clever little fingers so useless for defense.

Do you like it when he strokes your cock, dear Sirinius, giver of my madness? When you run your hands through his shaggy hair, do you feel horns begin to grow? Did the little faun take to fishing like the others, or does he cage you with his bleating, childish words?

What would you have become without me, Sirinius? A bitter old drunk, hamstrung by regret? I took you, William, flesh and blood, and made you anew. 

What will you and the little faun do, when the sex gets boring, the now-sweet gestures chafe and cloy? When your needs come back and a sacrifice is in your grasp?

It must feel good, William, to see that stupid animal devotion on a human face. He takes your hand when you cross the road, you know, and looks both ways despite his vision. Dogs love you because you feed them, but thirty dollars of Chow-de-Dow is thirty dollars to, well, what does affection go for, these days? Marsyas is a weeper, he wails like a paid mourner, and you will care for him–always at expense to yourself.

It’s a good time for somebody to disappear in the cold. What doesn’t freeze and collapse will be picked apart by animals hungry enough for human flesh, and the remainder is driven to pieces by sleet.

Ahead of us, the little faun waves, holding his thermos aloft as he scrambles onto a boulder, a smile emblazoned across his red-flushed face.

Let us flay Marsyas.


End file.
